Dreams of Death
by CocoaSamurai45
Summary: Samantha dies. Noone cares. Sam as a girl 'verse.


Title: Dreams of Death

Rating: I'm not sure for this...I'll say _M_ for gore and profanity.

Summary: _**Sam as a girl 'verse**- if there is a 'verse. _Uh... Samantha dies and nobody cares.

A/N: Sorry I haven't been updating. I've got a hectic schedule and I'm gonna get everything straightened out. I'm done moving so, hopefully, I'll catch a break and I'll be updating _regularly _like I shoulda been in the first place. But enough excuses! So enjoy this crappy little oneshot...hopefully.

* * *

Bam. That is the end of my life. There is crying, talking, and blood.

Hardly noone is there because I didn't know anyone to begin with. They will say 'Poor Sam, poor girl. She had such a bright future' And maybe they will be right. Maybe I did have a bright future. Yeah, a real bright future if only there wasn't an enormous gash across my midsection preventing it.

John will be there shaking his head at his screw up of a daughter. And Dean will be right beside him, because hasn't Dean been right there- John's favorite perfect son- in that same spot for his entire life? Why would his sister dying change that?

Blood will dribble slowly out of my lips they watch me. Everyone I've ever known is there, the paltry few. And nobody does _anything_ to stop the blood.

Why doesn't someone _do_ something? I'm still alive, I can feel my heart pounding and pounding even though half of my blood must be on the floor all around me.

My eyes will flicker taking in the faces. But everyone just stands there, sipping drinks and eating cookies or chicken. Jess is there, sipping somberly at his beverage, boring holes into my face. I want to yell, to lift my hand and beckon or touch or flick someone off.

But nothing will move and the life is still dribbling slowly from my mouth and onto the floor beside me. Dean and Dad look at me, there faces blank. Then they turn away and head for the door. There's a demon to kill after all. The demon that killed mom, the demon that should have killed me.

I want to yell at them, expletives and endearments and _**something**_ that will keep them from leaving me alone to die in front of these people that won't do _anything_ to stop it.

Because they always stop it. They always protect me. So why won't they- why won't they help me now? I can feel tears leaking from my eyes but I can't blink. I can feel blood pumping through my veins only to leak onto the floor, rivers and waterfalls of my blood.

Bobby, Pastor Jim, Jess, my friends from school- nobody moves a muscle to staunch the flow. Dean and Dad have disappeared, left. When I look at Jess again he's turning away too, taking his drink and his sad sad eyes and heading for the door.

I want to sob, collapse in a fit of flowing desperate tears. Nobody cares.

Suddenly I want mom. Mom would make them all stay and care. She's what they care about. She burned on the ceiling and Dad wants revenge and Dean wants her back. And it's because of me that she died.

That's why they all left; because I'm not important like her. I didn't sacrifice anything for anybody. Look at Dean- he's sacrificed his childhood, his _future_ to hunt down what killed mom. Dad sacrificed everything too. But what did I have to give up? A childhood? No, Dean took care of me, made sure I was happy. My future? I went to Stanford for chrissakes, abandoned my family for some foolish pursuit of normality. I didn't give up one dammed thing.

So why should they care? Why would anyone care about the girl that took and took and took and died before she could take anymore?

Out of the corner of my eye I can see a dark shadow. It creeps forward, predatory and graceful. Now it's over me, face shadowed. But I can see its eyes. Those foul yellow eyes that make fear well up in my belly. And I know that _he_ can see that I'm still alive. He cares if I live or die and it's no comfort at all. There he is, the target of my father's vengeance, kneeling in my blood and _smiling _in this fucking _sardonic_ way.

I can see something moving in peripheral vision then something warm on my face. I half expected his hand to be cold as ice and hard. But it's warm as it wipes away my tears, the fingers trailing over my face.

I don't want his hand on my face, his eyes yellow reptilian-cat eyes appraising me and his mind probing me.

I just want...I want to wake up.

But I don't. Because this isn't a nightmare; it's my future.


End file.
